Smoke
by nocturnalWordsmith
Summary: Jane Archer has lived in a life as good as she can. She's ignored people as much as she can so she wouldn't make the same mistakes she had done before. but when she witnesses what she thinks is a murder, she is suddenly brought into a world of fables she only thought we in, well, fables. Bigby x Oc
1. Messing Up

**Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Wolf Among Us' I only own the OC who's name you do not know yet.**

When I was younger, my dad used to tell me, "If you ever mess up, remember, depending on the severity of the situation, I may or may not be there for you." which at the time of my age, me being 9, seemed very harsh. But that's what life is. It's harsh and sometimes, no one really will be there for you. So in many ways he was right. Like for instance, I have managed a way to screw myself many, many times, because I'm now living on the harsh streets of New York. Yes, I am indeed homeless; No money, no food. I mean, I do have shelter. But it's under a bridge, so in actuality there was no help there.

What even is being homeless anyway? I lived on the streets for a couple of months but I've still found a 'home'. What can a home be definable by? My home is a broken tent under an unused and crumbled underpass with 3 other people. Is a home just a place where our mind can just automatically respond to when we think of home? Or is a home just a place we sleep in.

These are the stupid questions that are asked when placed in the situation of mine. Just a bum in New York living off anything she can.

So there I am, sitting in my designated homeless home questioning probably life itself when Thomas, an older guy living with the rest of us under the underpass, manages to squeeze himself into my tent, to which I'm amazed because he's pretty big and this tent is literally only supposed to fit a human and haIf a human limb.

"We're running low on food again." He says to me in this voice that sounds like two rocks grinding against each other and it's not a pleasant sound.

"Nice to se you too, Tom." I answer. Christ, one second with me and he's already breaking bad news. "Why is the supply low so soon?"

"New kid. He's been living in the streets for a couple'a weeks. Found him cold and hungry. May stop by your tent, he's very talkative."

"Aw great. Another person to yack up my ear." I sigh and lie back down and close my eyes. "Go ask Martha if I can borrow her guitar. I'll sit and play for a while I guess. Why don't you help too? Go collect cans or do some odd jobs, you smell okay enough."

"Alright. Also, Summer? Do you think you could maybe score $5 today? It's been rough." Tom pleaded. Tom was new to our little homeless club. Been here maybe a month? He was pretty young. Maybe 30? Sure, my tender age of 23 was way below him, but I've gotten more experience in this melancholy game.

"Shit Tommy, I'm not a miracle-worker. I'll see what I can do... Just get me the guitar and I'll be out and working hard." He pushed himself out of the tent and I followed suit. Stretching my arms and legs, feeling the joints pop. I stalked around for a bit, just looking around while running my hand through my ratty red hair. The new kid was sitting with Washington. An older man who's wife died and he plunged into debt, leaving him on the streets.

"Here ya go. Don't stay out too long." Tom hand the guitar to me. It was old, but luckily the strings still worked and it was easy to tune. So I left and ambled down the street to one of the sitting zones that the rest of us marked and sat down in front of some building with guitar in hand.

And that's the system. I somehow became leader of our group, so I was accountable for most the money-making. They told me I had this commanding vibe and that I'd be perfect to lead. Sure, other people worked hard too, but they mostly aimed towards trying to get their own money for smokes or alcohol or whatever they're looking for in this arc of our despairing lives.

I set the guitar in a comfortable position and began to tune. I few people tossed a couple quarters in to the tin cup in front of me while I was doing so. I guess people were generous today. That was usually a rare occurrence. Strumming softly I thought of a tune that could probably tug at peoples heart strings. I sang a few choruses, and hummed some of the breaking parts. I was lucky to have gone to a prestigious school where singing was a class that was required to be taken. 'You've got potential' the teacher had told me. But singing was not my thing. It really wasn't. It didn't seem useful in anyway and it made my throat more sore than I could stand. But it did come in handy in situations like this.

I stopped my guitar playing and thanked a couple people who tossed a few dollars in. Just a few more songs and I might be close to the 5 dollars by the end of the day if I'm that outrageously lucky. I mean, if it came down to it, I could always give up my cigarettes for the night.

So I strummed and sang and strummed and sang until my voice hurt and the tin can was 30% full with green and silver (with a little bit of bronze). That's really what mattered in this world. Not how excellent a person can sing a song. Just how much food is in the stomach, smoke in the lungs, and money in the tin can.

I reached for the silver cup and dumped the cold metal and paper into my sweating hands. My fingers were incredibly abused and raw, the money better be worth it.

7 dollars was my total. Holy shit that was incredible! This felt like some kind of world record. I stuffed the money into my jacket pocket.

With a small smile stitched in my face, I set the worn guitar against the wall. Standing up I stretch my fingers and casually strolled towards the obscure store, nodding at the angry-faced people sat the rushed pass. Tommy'll get the guitar later. It's so shitty, no one will try and steal it.

I meandered towards the quick-mart somewhere down the street. Everything there was cheap and edible, and with 7 dollars that could easily last a week. Maybe that's the joy of a quick-mart. Cheap and edible, a haven for the poor. And if the 7 dollars were not enough then there was always the soup kitchens with high sugar content that made people obnoxiously fat.

I grabbed as much food that I could afford and tucked it in my ratted hat which I had taken off upon entering the store.

"Evening." I said to the lady at the counter. I set the food on the table and asked for a pack of Huff 'N Puffs.

"Your total is $6.57." She took my hard-earned money carelessly.

And that was my evening. That's how most nights go when I can afford anything. Today was a shit-luck day. Most times it takes hours to a week to make even $3.

I stuck a smoke in my mouth and lit it with the lighter I swiped, taking a nice long drag and exhaling the burning smoke from my lungs. Little fuckers tasted horrible, but the cancers stick helped with my ever racing mind.

I stood there for a while, hat in hand full of food and just smoking. Contemplating everything and just admiring the heat and the dark sky of a late night or early morning. Being alone sure beat living in the underpass, but people needed one another to survive. Eventually I'd go stir crazy without Tommy or Martha or whatever dumbass that was put in the same situation as mine.

I was about to head towards my homeless home when I heard something come from the building across the convenience store. It was a round-down mustard yellow apartment building. I heard punning and things falling over. It sounded like a real fight was happening up there. I was about to turn away, ignore business that wasn't mine but to my utter horror (and surprise) these two men just fucking jumps from the window-not not even- the whole wall just crumbles under him as one of them lands on top of a car and the other hits a lamp post. I stare in shock, the expression is sewn on my face, and it deepens when I see the guy who hit the lamp-post get up and grab the man who fell on the beaten-to-hell yellow car.

"What the hell is going on?" I whisper under my breath. I should leave. This nagging terror keeps twisting my stomach painfully and my heartbeat is ramming so hard against my chest that oxygen feels non-existent. It increases 10-fold when I see lamp-post guy presses the palm of his hand press against car guy's throat. He kept throwing his head back, desperate for air. I move forward, about to intervene-

-Then I see her. I pretty little thing but a beaten face, wielding a silver axe in her tiny hands. She raises it above her head and lodges it in the lamp-post guy's skull.

Holy shit, he's dead. He's dead, dead, dead. And fuck I'm in the middle of this even though I don't want to be. I just became a witness. So I run. I run back to the underpass completely ignoring the new guys attempt at chatting me up.

And I know I've messed up bad now because there were probably cameras and other witnesses if this was a murder then I'll be called in and be placed in a sticky and messy situation, so deep in it that I won't be able to crawl my way out of it. And just like my father had said, he wasn't there for me because I have, indeed fucked up and the severity was too intense to handle.


	2. Bitter

**AN: I wish I could update more quick but I am a major procrastinator and I'm also busy writing a research paper. Plus I've got another story I want to write, but I'm trying to figure out the writing style and stuff like that. Anyway, thank you for the people who read and enjoy this. I don't know when Bigby will come in. Maybe next chapter. Anyway: **

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Wolf Among us or any canon characters. I only own the main OC and non-canon characters.**

I came back to the underpass, dropping the damn food and fell back on the floor with a loud grunt. My arms splayed out on the concrete and breath exited my mouth in heavy, unstable pants. Hooooooly shit. Please dear lord anyone, please let that not be a murder and I get called in. Oh who the hell am I kidding?! That was a fucking murder. The axe was blatantly lodged in his head. But, the last thing I need is police shuffling into my business, wanting to know who I am and what I saw. That would be _bad._

"Uh, hi Summer? You look a little run-down is everything all right?" Tommy walked towards me and looked down to my sweating red face.

"Go... Fuck... Yourself." I managed out. Maybe I shouldn't smoke so much. I rolled over on my stomach and tried to pick myself up. "That... Was... Too much... Activity for one night. _I_ need a drink, _you_," I pointed around to everyone. "Can leave me alone." I rested my hands on my knees and tried desperately to regain my breath. I stood up straight and waved sarcastically as I made my way towards the broken tent that I call my bedroom.

"Thanks for dinner, I guess?" Tommy's eyebrows were pressed together in downright confusion and a bit of concern.

"Yeah, just enjoy it."

I crawled into the cramped tent and recollected my thoughts, desperately trying to organize them in chronological order and make some sense of them. Who were the two guys? I knew that the one that landed on the car had long-ish brown hair and a white shirt on. The other one, looked like- used to look like- a lumberjack. Pretty ironic considering he now has an axe embedded in his head. I took out another cigarette and lit it, careful not to light the tent on fire. I exhaled and felt a sense of calm wash over me. Or something related to calm, probably just addiction.

I did as promised and took out some cheap beers that I kept stored. I uncapped one and chugged half the thing before sloppily putting it down and wiping my mouth with the sleeve on my jacket.

"You shouldn't drink on an empty stomach." Startled, I looked up to see who went against my wish of wanting to be alone. Of course it was the new kid.

I rolled my eyes and tipped the bottle back to my chapped lips, "Yeah, well, when has that fact ever stopped me?" I let the liquid pass through my mouth and making a burnig path down my throat.

He pushed his way through the tent flap and sat next to me. "My name's Aidan." He looked expectantly at me, probably waiting for the name that wasn't his business. He coughed into his hand with an awkward manner, "...Umm, you're name is Summer, right?"

I heaved an annoyed sigh and looked him square in the eye. "No." I answered flatly. I turned back and focused my brown eyes on the bottle in my hand.

"Then what is your name?" He urged me to answer. Holy hell, did this guy not get the hint that I wanted to be left alone?

"Fine... It's Missus Fuck You."

"Why the hell are you so bitter all the time? All I've been doing is trying to get to know people, and you're just acting like a big bitch!"

Wow. Was this guy t_hat_ butt-hurt over the fact that'd I'd rather be stranger not a friend? And the he has the audacity to call me a bitch?

"O-Kay, look here buckoo. Some people just want to be left to themselves. That doesn't make _them_ pretentious and that sure as hell doesn't make _me_ pretentious. Now don't come in here when I blatantly said I wanted to be left alone, and don't you _dare_ come in here and call me a bitch. Kapeesh?" I consumed the rest of the bottle and shoved it in his stiffened arms. "Now leave me the FUCK alone and have some common courtesy to throw that away." I was about to lay down and turn away when I saw his arm raise.

"You're her, aren't you? You're Jane Archer." How did he know my name? I went rigid when suddenly Aidan smashed the bottle on my head. Shock shown itself on his face when he realized I hadn't been knocked out or killed.

An intense pain went through my body and I reached up to where the bottle made impact with my head. Blood coated my red hair, making it a shade darker. My forehead was pounding, but the most prominent feeling was how rage seemed to make-up for my lost blood. My eyes darkened a considerable amount. Once a nice chocolate turned to an almost black.

Aidan went in for a punch, but amazingly I managed to dodge. I was gonna fuck this guy up so hard.

An animalistic growl tore itself from my throat and lunged for him, making my tent collapse around us. My fists pounded consistently onto whatever part of his body that I could get to. My vision was fading slowly. Damn it, that hit from the bottle was starting to make its guest appearance.

"How did you know my name?!" I didn't say that, but yet the words slipped of my tongue. My voice was deeper and didn't really sound like me at all. "Who are you? How did you know MY NAME?!" I said once more without me actually saying it. It wasn't me who was talking but still, the sentence came from my mouth.

My eyesight was disappearing second by second, and all at once everything went black.


	3. Tanya

**AN: For those following my story, I always ALWAYS redo my chapter some. So I advise you re-read. ESPECIALLY chapter 2, there were some major changes there. In celebration over the fact that the new episode came out today, I'm updating and hopefully making ****this one longer and an appearance of BIBGY! Finally!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Wolf Among Us **

When a person wakes up from an unpleasant deep sleep...

"-Ummer! Summer! Summer calm down!"

That's not the sound they want to wake up to.

But, none-the-less I woke up to the feeling of my arms being restrained behind my back and an aching pain in my forehead. Growls were emitting out of my throat but I immediately calmed them and blinked sluggishly.

"Wha-what's goin' on?" My voice came out groggy and pathetic, just above a pitiful whisper. I connected looks with Tommy, who was holding my sore face while he had concerned plastered on his own. I looked behind me to see Martha was the one pinning my limbs.

"Shit Summer, what happened to your eye?" I snapped up a bit at Tom's question. Why? What the hell was wrong with my eye?

"The uh- Aidan. The fucker, he hit me, probably burst a blood vessel in my eye." I managed out. Where was that bastard anyway? I cast my gaze and saw his body slumped and bloodied, but still breathing. I let out a sigh. I could not deal with one more dead body or else I would surely crack.

"No no no, your eye, it's blue. The left eye is blue." Tom wrenched my face back to look at him.

I perked up a bit. What the hell? That doesn't happen. "Are you joking...?" My head lulled back and I felt Martha let go of my arms and getting into a position that would catch me if I fell back. Out of my peripheral vision I saw Washington with his arms out too, just in case.

"You need to sit down. You're really hurt. Should we call an ambulance?" Washington asked.

"No! I-I just kind of want to sleep." I stated. My energy was depleted and I desperately needed a nap and if doctors got involved that means police wouldn't be that far behind.

"Dear, you can't sleep. You more than likely have a concussion. Just sit down and tell us what happened." Martha guided me to her dirty and worn mattress. She was a kind older lady. A once rich woman because of her deceased husband, but her children bled her dry of money and ignored her and she soon found her way in the streets.

I sat down and finally asked: "Is he okay?"

"Yeah. Surprisingly. You were just beating on him, and you wouldn't stop. Kept yelling about your name and how he knew it. We had to pull you off or else you would've killed him." Washington put.

I looked down at my hands. I knew I shouldn't have let my temper get the best of me, last time this happened was the reason I was on the streets. Shit!

Everything has been so messed. Since birth I was apparently destined to be the biggest fuck-up in existence. My whole time-line has just been one roller-coaster and god-damn I've been going down since the start.

I put my face in my hands and began to wonder about my eye. Why had it turned blue?

I turned my attention back to Tom, Martha, and Washington. Their gazes held uneasiness as they examined me.

"What happened?" Tom was the first to speak again.

"I don't know. I just wanted to be left the. _Fuck_. Alone." I grabbed Tommy's hand and ignored the was he tensed. I just needed someone to comfort me. I just needed someone. "He came into my tent and started asking questions, nothing too personal, but I want to keep to myself, y'know? I don't want to be known. We all die, so whats the point of being known? But he kept asking questions and then he said something to me that was really, really off-putting and then he smashed a bottle over my head. I... I guess I just snapped." I shrugged and let go of Tommy's hand, glancing at Aidan.

"Do you know why he wanted to hurt you?"

A brief thought of an old friend came to mind, but I dismissed it. How would he know her? If he did, she surely would have told me about him. I shook my head and stood up.

"Look, I appreciate all the concern, but I... I kind of want to go for a walk. I'll come back later, alright? Maybe you should get someone to call the ambulance, I just... Don't want to be there when they arrive." They begrudgingly agreed to let me go. I just desperately wanted some air. Too much has been going on. This place didn't feel like it could be the definable home I was looking for. A sudden need to run away and smoke a cigarette consumed me and for a moment I actually considered it. I don't want to be bound to this homeless democracy anymore, playing the guitar to get money and having to rely on cigarettes to calm me down.

I went to my tent and grabbed my Huff n' Puffs, lighting it up and sticking it in my mouth. I saw that Tommy, Martha, and Washington were huddled over Aidan, examining the mess I made.

I walked out of the underpass and hovered a hand over my left eye. I needed to see for myself that my eye had actually turned blue. I've heard of eyes changing color based on what outfit a person wears or how the sun directly hits their eye, but a being whacked with a bottle and suddenly your eye is blue is noting that I've read in any of my biology textbooks.

The sky was lightening up now. The horizon sending hues of warmer toned colors. The sight made me feel better. Maybe Aidan will leave and maybe things will turn out for the better and maybe I will finally stop being so damn negative. A girl can wish, right?

I took out my cigarette to examine it. I love them. I love the way it kills me. I love the way it slowly burns me on the inside the way self-hate can't.

I finished it off and snuffed it out with my worn to the sole shoes. I examined my face in a store mirror and Tom was telling the truth, my eye was blue. I could never fathom the way everything works out, and to me this whole thing started when my mom died. I had a seizure while all she could do was sit and die from whatever had happened to her, and I would've died too, had my dad not come bursting in at the right moment. Since then, since that day, my blackouts had started. Violent little fits that made my friends push me away and for me to sink further into a self-destructive chasm with no way of climbing out.

Yes, I do believe my name was Jane Archer at one point, but all these things and events just make me want to wipe that person away. But I can't. I'm stuck in this forever hoop of being the one thing I regret the most. I regret being me. Me with my 'singing skills' and my being 'the homeless president', and me on this journey searching for a home that can be defined. But I can't, and I am Jane Archer.

I continued walking, lost in thought when I bumped into someone's back.

"Crap, sorry." I looked up and a scream caught in my throat.

It was him. That guy who I saw _die._ He was standing here before my with booze in his hand and a bandage on his head. I am sorry to say sire, but a bandage for an injury like an axe lodged in the _fucking head_ is not a suitable remedy.

"You. I. What? I saw you die. What the hell?" He looked down at me in surprise, though he probably couldn't compute that well due to his eyes being lazed over from what is more than likely the alcohol in his hand. I took a moment to examine what it was.

'Midas Gold. Nice.'

But I'm staring up at him, and he stares down at me and he finally snaps back to reality.

"Tanya?" With blatant disregard for my question ON HIS MURDER, he retorts back with his own. My eyebrows arch a bit. Tanya was my mother's name, yes, but I didn't think we looked that much alike. I feel uncomfortable. This burly looking lumber-jack dude is messing with my vibes and I just want to leave.

"Tanya, you should really go. It's not safe for witches to be here. Bigby might send you to the farm, or worse." Who the hell is Bigby? I just nod and walk away down an alley, he stumbles after me, but I run full blast out of there. I don't want to deal with anymore psychopaths, _please_.

But I've never been lucky. Despite my Irish lineage, the kind lady has never been on my side, she'd rather me suffer because once again after a few minutes, I go barreling into a white shirt. I don't know what part of town I'm at anymore and the running into people is just pissing me off.

"Sorry, sorry. Excuse me." I try to shift around white shirt when his hand stops me.

I look up and see another familiar face. This one isn't drunk though, but I definitely saw him jump out of a wall like the other guy. It hits me that this is scruff, the one that lumberjack was beating on. He had an unshaven face, though not a full-on beard, with shaggy brown hair and hardened eyes the same color.

Didn't I say that I wanted no business in this? I would have rather taken the police over confronting the murdered and a witness. At lest I hadn't seen the chick who struck the axe in the first place, that would seriously make this wonderful morning more shit than what was coming out.

"Look. I said I'm sorry just leave me alone." I looked him square in the eye as a form of intimidation. It usually always worked because I had this nasty face 24/7 and no one likes to see a girl turn sour.

"You look just like someone I know." He said examining my face and scratching at his scruff.

"Is that so? Because I've never seen you before, and I'd like to keep it that way." I tried to duck around him but once again was stopped.

'You look alike, but barely. Are you related to a 'Tanya'." My mothers name kept spouting off people's lips. Why the hell was she so damn popular?

I tried to shake my head, to say no but my words came out like I wasn't the one in charge.

"No. I am Tanya." My brows furrowed as did his.

"Are you using glamour then?"

"Just take me to Snow. I need to talk to her." It was just like in the underpass. Even though I was saying them, these words were not mine. He silently nodded and kept walking. I followed after, not in charge of my feet. I felt like a rag doll that only could produce thoughts. Who was this bloke and who was Snow? The questions kept piling up and it felt like I was going to topple with the weight of them.


End file.
